Hermione's War
by BiteTheHand
Summary: Within a few weeks everything gained in the fight against Voldemort is lost. Hermione leads a new life. An unusual story following Hermione through the changes she never thought she would see. What will happen when two exceptional people meet. Friendship.
1. Scabbed Hands

The two last people to enter the cold high-ceilinged room in the department of mysteries were Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore.

Hard times had taken their toll on Snape, his features appeared more strained; there was no denying he was no longer young though he looked as sharp as ever.

The people attending this trial filed in and settled on the many wooden benches. They stared towards a door in the corner of the room silently.

Vince Fielding, a tall man with a stoop joined the party on the benches. Through the same door in the corner he had left came two foreboding dementors grasping the limp body of a woman.

The woman was thrown into a deep chair with chains attached, only then did she raise her head: the chains had coiled tightly around her wrists and arms – binding her rigidly to the seat.

Hermione Granger was still a striking woman, she had brown hair with deep brown eyes to match and battle-worn skin bearing the scars of years of fighting.

Fielding shattered the silence which seemed to have frozen in mid-air.

"You are Hermione Granger, thirty-seven years of age, captured whist in the act of performing the cruciatus curse against Pius Thicknesse?"

Hermione could only tell the truth, there was no way out.

Hermione lifted her head and spoke out in a clear tone, "Yes, Pius Thicknesse, the ministry man."

It had been around twenty years since the first great war in Hogwarts. Harry Potter had been killed two weeks afterwards without a fight, the chosen one had perished without a fight.

In the current days Voldemort was a legend, but alive – just. The wizarding world had been shook as he had made himself less than human. Less than a spirit, Lord Voldemort's soul had been split into so many he was invincible.

At Hogwarts twenty years ago Lord Voldemort had killed hundreds of innocent children and forced the muggle-borns and undesirables world into submission.

"I wouldn't just torture Pius Thicknesse for the fun of it. You do already know I had a motive," persisted Hermione. "Just like a bumped off all those Death Eaters over the years - but they just keep recruiting, coming, don't they? Are you too ashamed of your Death Eaters to do anything about it when they disappear?"

The conviction in Hermione's voice bouncing of the walls seemed to defeat the dementor's chill effortlessly.

"The ministry, and all of the evidence, did just prove that obviously, without the shrieking."

"The ministry means no more than the Dark Lord!" spat Hermione malevolently.

The man flicked through the many papers on his desk.

"All who vote Hermione Granger receives a life sentence in Azkaban?" barked Fielding at last.

All of the wizards seated raised their hands.

It was common knowledge that Dumbledore would have attempted to save Hermione but his body had been animated three years ago by Snape, Lord Voldemort's man, revered by Death Eaters as what they should aspire to.

The resurrection stone had revived Snape days before Harry Potter was finally killed, six days after the battle in Hogwarts. The resurrection stone had chosen to bring back the pure of heart – Severus Snape.

Snape raised his had with the rest of the people on the bench, knowing what was expected of him. Dumbledore mirrored - he was no longer the powerful wizard he used to be, he was indeed an inferi, stone-cold dead. Though dead, Voldemort had him crudely paraded as though nothing had changed twenty-one years ago when he was killed.

Hermione remembered the headmaster from her days at Hogwarts, the old patient professor with a constant smile. It sickened her to see his dead body sat on the bench among the other live people. Snape was the last sight she saw as she was taken from the by scabbed grey hands.

"Just another scrape," Hermione reassured herself quietly aloud.

Hermione had spent over half of her life so far fighting Death Eaters and the Ministry, wiping memories, setting up missions with the New Worlders. The New Worlders were a group of militant wizards. The members changed so often there often wasn't time to learn names, just trust each other.

Nine years ago, ten years into the history of the New Worlders all of them were killed except Hermione, she had survived. After that recruiting was hard, Hermione had managed to scrape together some vicious werewolves off the outskirts of Hangleton.

Hermione would share a few months with the gang before members were cruelly slaughtered and they had to move on. It was true that Hermione had been physically killed once but she was alive and brutal. She had carried out tortures, murders even using inferi of her dead New Worlders.

As the years passed the thoughts of using Dumbledore's peaceful methods of retaliation had passed through her mind only to be dismissed. Perhaps Lord Voldemort had been right about about Dumbledore. Hermione had fought for Dumbledore but used means that matched his enemies.

In all of Hermione's scrapes this one had angered her the most - being dragged off by dementors. The memory of waking in an undergrowth with a chunk of her thigh torn and bloody due to a particularly vile werewolf brought a reminiscing smile to her face, even as the dementors escorted her through the wrought gates of Azkaban.

It was just another scrape.


	2. Swings

Outside, a steely blue sky greeted a small girl as she left her house through the back door. Hermione Granger was playing on the swing in her back garden. She swung to dangerous heights before leaving the seat of the swing to land as softly as if she had stepped off a pavement.

Only two days ago it had been Hermione's ninth birthday. She was late to say she had exhibited magical abilities just recently. The dangerous feat on the swing was a sign.

Hermione had no idea in less than three years to this day she would be starting a great feast in the Hogwarts Hall.


	3. Joining Up

Hermione often wondered what her life wold be like if she was a simple muggle. Tonight she could have been completely drunk at her eighteenth birthday party but she was alone, her parents safe in Australia, oblivious to their daughter's birthday.

She ordered a fire whiskey from a grubby-looking barman in faded robes through one of the numerous faces she didn't own, a hair borrowed to be used in a polyjuice potion. Hermione had organised an ensemble of misfits to come suited to a group she had in mind to make. The tension from the recent fight in Hogwarts haunted her. Hermione was more at risk in her own skin than ever.

A youngish girl entered the pub nervously, Hermione recognised her at once as a girl who was sorted in her fourth year at school. Hermione could tell that Orla Quirke too was in hiding. The muggle-born had been travelling for over a year since she was fourteen years old.

"Over here," Hermione called quietly to Orla.

Orla looked surprised at Hermione's new disguise but slid onto the stood next to her. Orla took in the disguise – she was now tall with wild blonde hair and startling green eyes.

"You are…Hermione?" asked Orla anxiously.

"Yes. Hello Orla, I'm glad you made it. So, why do you need to join up?" enquired Hermione straight to the point.

Hermione knew this was a difficult question she had asked even if she needed answers. She waited whilst Orla rummaged through hurtful memories.

Orla cast Hermione a scared look before answering Hermione: "I'm a muggle-born, the Death Eaters – or the Ministry – have threatened to kill my family. The ministry demand my wand."

The young girls face showed no pain, she was too hurt to cry. Hermione looked at Orla's blank face and puzzled expression, she understood at once how Orla felt.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sympathised, she spoke again more business-like. "As you may have known: the Order Of The Phoenix collapsed once it was believed the Death Eaters or Ministry infiltrated it. Naturally we won't get anywhere without a band of people to fight the Death Eaters."

"Fine," Orla replied. "What good did The Order do anyway?"

"A lot, actually – before they all got their heads fucking _blasted off_!" hissed Hermione. "And I won't hesitate to do the same to you if you dare turn on me!"

Orla's face rose in colour, she snarled back at Hermione, "I'll have your throat if you don't shut it. I'm here not because I want protection but because I've got _nothing_ to lose!"

Hermione's face cracked into a smile.

"We won't get very far headless. Oh. Sorry! I'll get you a drink."

Hermione ordered another fire whiskey for Orla, herself and a light- haired boy Hermione knew at once. The boy looked at Hermione and Orla furtively before seating himself with them.

"Swallowed your pride, have you? I _knew_ your daddy's gang would want your head soon enough!" Hermione said, starting to laugh callously at Draco.

Draco simply replied, "I should hope that barman isn't listening, Hermione."

"_Muffliato_," Hermione said, pointing her wand discreetly at the barman.

"I _knew_ we were in it together, Draco! So what did you do?" Hermione asked, taking a lazy swig of her fire whiskey.

Draco swilled his drink around the glass it was in before speaking, "My parents have been forced to join the Dark Lord's side once again as punishment. My mother told me to flee; the Death Eaters want to kill me."

"I'm not surprised," piped Orla.

"I agree," Hermione said. "Your parents were seen as unfaithful."

"So what you said before? We're going to join up?" Draco asked Hermione.

"To bring down the Death Eaters! And the Ministry!" finished Orla. "And I think we need a name."

The barman noticed a large gathering of about a dozen people congregating in the far corner of his pub, he did not know these people were the New Worlders. And the rowdiest youngest one was under-age drinking.


End file.
